Hamilton Inktober Prompts
by D0ct0rGaster
Summary: Just like the title says! I attempt to write the prompts, and hopefully, Lin-Manuel won't mind. XD
1. Betrayal

_Alexander Hamilton._

The name seems like a curse now. I've been betrayed by my own husband.

Have I not risked everything to be with you?

My family's reputaions, our fortune, their respect? That's how much I love you, Alex, and you repay me by going off with another man's wife? Not only that, but you don't stop when I return, instead, you bounce between the two of us like we were merely possessions! How could you?

Then, you publicly declare your sin to the entire United States of America.

_The Reynolds Pamphlet._

_Have you read this?_

You've been in another women's bed, Alex. Have you no morals, no sense of decency? What example are you setting for our children?

_Alexander Hamilton_

_Had a torrid affair_

_And he wrote it down right there_

_Highlights!_

Why would you do something like this? After what we've been through together? Why? You've taken my heart and shattered it into a million pieces.

_The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds_

_For purposes of improper speculation._

_My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife_

_For a considerable time_

_With his knowing consent._

Did you think our love was a game, something to be toyed with for a short time, and the dropped when you saw something else shinier, more prettier, more desirable? It will take time for me to be able to even think about forgiving you. I just can't believe you would do something like this.

It's a betrayal.

Betrayal of the heart.


	2. Loneliness

Dearest Martha,

I miss you.

I miss you so, so much.

You left a gaping hole in my chest where the essence of my soul used to be. You took it when you died, and I look forward to joining you, so that I may be whole again. I was only truly happy with you, my love.

You made me swear not to marry again to preserve our marriage bed, and I haven't broken that promise, and I never will.

Your absence is tearing at me, torturing me with thoughts that I don't this should be shared, even in this letter.

Right from the day I first met you, I knew we had a long and prosperous future together. Our fates, our destinies, were intertwined.

I miss you, Martha.

I always will.

-Thomas Jefferson


	3. Legacy

That one word is all I strive for.

Legacy.

It's a goal that is so unreachable, yet so tantalizingly close. Everything I try to do is something that pulls me closer to the word.

_Legacy._

How can I be so close, yet so far away from accomplishing that one last task? The final touch, that one last masterstroke I would need, is to die.

That's how I cement my legacy.

_What is a legacy?_

But what of my family? Eliza, my dear wife whom I've hurt in an unthinkable way, but still stands by me, Phillip, my wonderful son who has grown up so fast, Angelica Hamilton, my little girl... they are all important.

_It's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see._

More important than a legacy? Than work?

But I do this job, I keep trying, struggling, for them. So they may have a name for themselves. I am nothing, but for my children, for the family, I will build up my name for them.

_Time's up_

I can help them along the way.

_Eyes up_

I was nothing, I am nothing. No money, no title, no parents. I was adrift in an ocean of poverty and living life one day at a time, never thinking that I would survive to be 20.

Now I can see the future.

My future.

My children's future.

And help my kids have the best life I can give them.

_Wise up._

It's all for them.

I need to meet the goal.

Legacy.


	4. Act I

"Alexander!" Washington called, his deep voice echoing through the long and dark hallway. "Alex, come here! I need your help with something."

The tall general strode through the hall, his eyes fixated on the warm, flickering orange glow spilling out into the corridor from the last door. _He should be responding, that light means he's been working since this morning... he never knows when to stop, does he..._

Reaching the door, he found it to be partially ajar. Somewhere deep in his brain, he found the silence to be a little worrisome. There were no customary scratching of a quill, no mumblings of an aide-de-camp hard at work and no rustlings of paper. It was completely silent. Either he was not there, or he had fallen ill again.

Now, feeling slightly concerned, Washington gently pushed the door open, giving a little wince at the loud creak it made.

"Alexander, are you..." His question died on his lips when he saw what was inside.

The room was an absolute mess. It seemed as if a hurricane swept through the place, scattering papers, quills, and books throughout the room. The lantern was precariously placed on top of a stack of papers, making Washington grimace at the potential fire hazard. The whole floor was covered in papers in messy stacks, leaving just barely enough room to walk through the mess. More books were piled on a relatively small desk in the middle of the room, along with more papers and a plate of untouched food. Alexander was nowhere to be found.

But then, upon closer inspection, Washington spotted the hem of a dark green jacket behind a stack of books on the desk. Wading further in, Washington caught sight of Alexander fast asleep at his desk.

The overworked, sleep-deprived lieutenant looked so peaceful for once. All traces of stress on his face were gone, and he looked like a small child again.

Washington looked at his aide with, dare I say it, an expression of fondness. He didn't want to disturb his slumber, but he needed to get Alexander in a proper bed, or else he'll be even sorer in the morning.

Shuffling closer to Alexander, Washington placed a hand on his shoulder, startling the sleeping man awake.

"Wazzat?" Alexander jolted and sat up, blinking rapidly to try and get the room in focus. "Iz there somethin' goi'n on? Spys? A'other battle?"

"Alexander," Washington's voice was gentle as he withdrew his hand. "Nothing's wrong. You just fell asleep at your desk again."

At the sound of his commander's voice, Alex's eyes widened and his expression morphed into one of shame, shock, and embarrassment. He tried to stand up to fast, and he grew so dizzy he ha to sit right back down. "G-General," He stammered, a blush rising to face. "S-sorry for falling asleep while working, sir. It won't happen again."

"It's okay, son." Washington soothed the self-conscious aide-de-camp. "I know you've been working yourself down to the bone."

Alexander lowered his head. "But I fell asleep on the job, sir. I should be demoted to Private or sent home at the very least."

Washington opened his mouth to interject when the depressed soldier added, mostly to himself. "I don't even work that hard anyway..."

"Alex!" Washington admonished, gesturing for the lieutenant to stand with an incline of his head. "You work just as hard as I do on a daily basis, if not more! If anymore, you do deserve to take a break once in a while. It's not healthy for you not to sleep. Some days, I don't think you even eat!"

While the General was scolding Alexander on his poor habits, Alexander had stood and they both waded through the mess over to the door, and Washington gently pushed Alexander out of the room, doused the lamp, and closed the door behind him. Washington then ushered the slightly confused aide-de-camp down the hallway.

"S-sir, if I may ask," Alexander said hesitantly, partially dreading the answer. "Where are we going?"

Washington turned Dad mode up to full. "Son, you are going to my quarters where there is a proper bed, and you shall sleep and actually take care of yourself for once."

"But sir-" Alexander tried.

"No," Washington said firmly. "That's an order."

Alexander relented and they headed to Washington's HQ, where Alexander finally got a good night's rest.


	5. Loveable

"Philip Hamilton!" Eliza called from the kitchen, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Come here this instant!"

Upstairs in his playroom, the 5-year-old Phillip set down the train he was making repeatedly crash into a wall with and shuffled downstairs. He could be heard giggling as he padded down the hallways in his stockings. The child slid into the kitchen, almost slipping on the tiled floor. "Yes mum?" he asked once he righted himself.

"Phillip, did you switch the sugar for salt again?" Eliza asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Philip's eyes widened and he shrunk down. "Uh... no?" He lied terribly.

Eliza sigh and bent down to swoop him off the floor "Philip, you've got to stop playing pranks on your family! The pastries I was making were ruined because they were too salty!"

Phillip's face fell and he started to sniff. "I ruin all Mommy's food?"

Eliza squeezed her son tightly in a hug. "Not at all, dear. You just made one taste funny."

"Yay!" Philip grinned, cheered up at the reassurance that he didn't spoil his Mum's food.

The young woman adopted a sly smirk. "Phillip, the only time you can switch the salt and sugar again is when you're Aunts come over, okay?"

"'Kay!"


	6. Glass

In my dream, there is only glass. Just four glass walls surrounding me on all sides.

Through one, I see a lush green plain, full of wildflowers in different colors, waving in a breeze. Blue, purple, yellow and red all blended together to form a swirling portrait of dancing shapes.

Through another wall, I see a sadder sight. A war-torn battlefield with dead bodies strewn across the muddy field fills up the whole space with a bloodstained sky as its background. Other soldiers are climbing over those bodies as if they're not even there. I can taste the heavy tang of gunpowder and smell the thick blood in the air, tainting the Earth with its polluted handprint.

Shaking my head to clear those cloudy thoughts, I turn towards another glass wall and see Alexander's family, and the man himself. Eliza, his lovely wife, and his children Phillip and Angelica, and another baby swaddled in a blanket. Alexander had his arm around his wife, and his kids were sitting around him, looking up at him with adoring eyes, listening with rapt attention as he told them a story. Eliza had the baby in her arms, and I could spot a tiny hand poking out from the blue cloth the baby was wrapped around in. It seemed as if it was waving at me, so in response, I lifted my own hand and waved back. I feel a surge of pride and affection for the young man I see as a son, and for the family he had worked so hard to protect.

In the last glass wall, I see myself. George Washington. Except, I look different than I do now. I look...younger, more alive. I looked exactly as I did before the start of the French and Indian War. My eyes are full of hope, only a hint of the shadows that I would carry with me later in life.

Then, I wonder. How can I see things from different times? Is this really a dream? Am I... am I dead?

_I can't be dead._

_I had so much work to do! Plenty to do, plenty to see, plenty to experience and plenty to pass on. I needed more time, I needed to... to..._

_I want to see Alex as he is now. I miss that boy. _

_Headstrong._

_Stubborn._

_Impatient._

_He reminds me of when I was his age._

_I am sorry for not being there for you, Alex. _


End file.
